we found each other in the dark
by girlthursday
Summary: Oliver's exhausted. Only, with people flopping down on him like this, he doubts he'll be getting much sleep. Smoaking Billionaires (but heavy on the Olicity). Canon-divergent.


**A/N: **Based on this prompt from otpprompts:

_Imagine that your OTP just returned from a long outing. Person A, exhausted, flops down on the couch/bed. Person B, not paying attention, flops down on top of them. They're both too tired to move, so instead, they spend the next ten minutes telling the other to get off before just saying "screw it" and falling asleep like that._

_Bonus: Person C flops on top of person A and B, but they all end up falling off of the couch/bed and onto the floor._

That being said, if you're not into Oliver/Felicity/Tommy, you can stop at the asterisks and you'll essentially be left with an Olicity fic. But the OT3 is pretty light, the focus mostly on Oliver and Felicity, so I'd recommend you read to the end. But reader's preference!

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><p>Oliver stumbles off his bike, feet catching on the uneven pavement and driving his hip into the handlebar. He hisses sharply through clenched teeth. "Fuck." Disgruntled, he tugs at his helmet, jerky movements ramming the chin guard straight into his nose. "Double fuck," he mutters, glaring contemptuously at his helmet through watering eyes. Even inanimate objects had it out for him that night.<p>

Still twitchy with irritation, Oliver pops open the motorcycle's storage compartment, throws his helmet inside, and slams it shut with unnecessary (but no less satisfying) force. With that sudden exertion of energy, every muscle in his body droops with fatigue, aggravation dissipating. Exhaling heavily, he casts one last dark look at his vehicle before pivoting on his heels and trudging up the walkway leading to the white-bricked townhouse.

It had been an oddly busy night where his vigilante activities were concerned. After a deceptively quiet start to the week, the foundry's police scanner had sputtered to life. Between midnight and one, a total of six armed bank robberies had been called in, one after another in evenly spaced intervals. The SCPD had been in a tizzy, cruisers zigzagging frantically across the city, barrelling through red lights with sirens blaring and lights flashing.

Not that it had been any easier for Team Arrow. Each robbery had been meticulously executed, leaving no witnesses or salvageable surveillance footage. Oliver had managed to apprehend one of the men fleeing from Starling National, seemingly abandoned by his comrades. But he'd been of little value, knowing absolutely nothing beyond his role as the lookout and being tapped for the job via a playing card slipped under his door.

But if that hadn't been enough in itself to set his teeth on edge, it had been compounded by Felicity's absence in the foundry, away from her fortress of computers to enjoy a rare night off. Without her at the helm and guiding him through the city, Oliver had spent far longer than he'd wanted in his leathers and mask, just to catch a low-ranking minion that would prove to be a dead end.

Climbing onto the front stoop, he peers into the large bay window of the living room. Darkness stares back. As expected, neither Felicity nor Tommy was home. Felicity, as far as Oliver was aware, was still out with the gang from Central City (she'd promised to text when she got in, and he hadn't heard anything from her since just before eleven when she'd sent him of a photo of herself, Barry, Caitlin and Cisco crammed into a booth of a poorly lit bar), and Tommy was at Verdant, likely rushing out stragglers and closing up for the night.

Oliver manoeuvres the keys in his hand, thumb and index finger pinching the house key as the rest fall from his palm with a jangle. He makes quick work of unlocking the door. With the night that he's had and a board meeting for which he's completely unprepared first thing the next morning, all he wants is to climb into Felicity's bed and squeeze in a solid five hours of sleep.

Bracing for the shrill wail of the alarm that'll greet him on the other side, he opens the door and steps inside. In his exhausted state, the alarm's hysterics are amplified and more jarring as it reverberates in his ears and pounds against his skull. Wincing, he hurriedly punches in the code to disable the alarm, and sighs in grateful relief when silence immediately falls over the foyer.

Ears still ringing, Oliver absently deadbolts the door and flips on the light switch, squinting against the brightness that fills the space. He tosses his keys into the ceramic bowl sitting atop a console pushed against the wall adjacent to the door. The fog of weariness thickening, he barely registers his own movements as he toes off his shoes, shucks off his jacket and flings it haphazardly over a nearby armchair. Mouth stretching into a wide yawn, he thumps up the stairs two at a time and shuffles into the bedroom.

Eyes falling on the bed, Oliver feels sweet relief just within his reach. Pulling back the covers reverently, he collapses onto the mattress like a bag of bricks, chest to mattress and face burrowing into the polka-dotted pillow Felicity favours. He breathes in deeply, snuffling contentedly as the scent of Felicity's peach shampoo comingled with Tommy's citrus body wash fills his nostrils.

Eyes closed, Oliver pats around blindly for the duvet and throws in over his head, completely ensconcing himself in its pillowy softness. Positioned like this, he muses, there's a distinct possibility of suffocating to death. But he can't find it in himself to care. If after surviving the various sharp edges and projectiles that have been swung and fired at him respectively, death by pillow was his tragic end, then so be it. He's just too damn tired to be bothered.

Oliver's dozing, his carefully cultivated vigilance nearly nonexistent, when the duvet is pulled down from his head. The accompanying drag of air erects the fine hairs along the back of his neck. A fraction of a second later, a body drops onto his with a muffled "oomph", familiar curves pressing into his back.

He lifts one eyelid lazily, peering through his lashes to find a mess of blond curls fanned over his left shoulder and tickling at his chin. Resting her head on his cervical spine, Felicity sags limply into him. "You're really hard." Oliver can't help the puff of laughter that escapes.

Her industrial piercing scrapes lightly at the base of his neck as she lifts her head and cranes her neck to look him in the eye. "Get your mind out of the gutter," Felicity admonishes, blue eyes narrowed in a halfhearted glower. "I was referring to your general muscly-ness."

He chuckles. "Sorry."

Humming contentedly, she drops a cheek onto his shoulder. "Do that again."

Oliver quirks a bemused brow. "You want me to apologize again?"

She shakes her head, silky strands swishing against the bedspread. "Nuh-uh. Laugh again. I like the rumbly vibrations."

That elicits a genuine laugh out of him. Felicity moans back approvingly. "Who needs a $2000 massage chair when I've got a walking, talking and arguably better-looking alternative?"

"'Arguably'? I'm not 'definitely' more attractive than a massage chair?"

She hums in faux deliberation. "Entirely depends on whether you're wearing a shirt." A finger crooks into the collar of his cotton tee and tugs. "You've got those leathery ogres beat when this pesky thing isn't on."

Lips stretching into a wide grin, Oliver carefully flips onto his back from beneath her, right arm swinging over her head while his left circles around her waist to keep her balanced and settled against him through the transition. When they're lying chest-to-chest, Felicity raises her head from the crook of his neck and peers down at him with bright eyes. Her gaze drops to his lips. "Permission to kiss?"

He arches a brow. "Do you even need to ask?"

Felicity bobs her head. "Yes. I like to get consent from my make-out partners before I assault them with my mouth. It's the courteous thing to do." Her nose wrinkles distastefully. "And I've never been a huge fan of the whole 'kiss them to shut them up' thing everyone finds so romantic. It's not, and it makes me cringe every time."

Eyes lifted thoughtfully, she tilts her head and nibbles at her lips. Recognizing the gestures he's quickly come to learn presage a diverting and offbeat tangent, Oliver's lips twitch in anticipation. He isn't disappointed.

Felicity draws a deep breath. "Does anybody actually enjoy being pounced on unexpectedly to have a tongue shoved down their throat? Especially when they're in the middle of articulating a particularly brilliant thought or explaining some really convoluted theory? Like, that's nice that you want to kiss me, but hold off until I've stopped forming words with my mouth and am able to properly receive and return your kiss."

She fixes him with a serious look which Oliver attempts (but probably fails) to mirror. "But more than anything, I don't think people realize the all too real possibility that the person being kissed just might, out of pure reflex, bite off the tongue of the presumptuous asshole who thought cutting someone off with their mouth was okay. I mean, I probably would if I were caught off guard like that. Which would be really unfortunate, considering it's a pretty vital organ for many kissing-related activities. And, you know," she gestures vaguely, "eating."

Within the same beat, Felicity stiffens, eyes widening comically as the unintended innuendo, Oliver can only guess, plays back on loop in her brain. His shoulders quake with laughter as she ducks her head into the junction of his neck and shoulder, releasing a muffled groan. "Ugh. I meant eating food," she clarifies unnecessarily against his skin.

Guffaws subsiding and fond amusement settling in his chest, Oliver clears his throat. "I know."

Felicity extricates her face from its hiding place, and hovers it over his again. A faint blush has spread across the bridge of her nose, which Oliver finds equally endearing and insanely attractive. "I still want to kiss you," she pronounces matter-of-factly.

"Okay, you've got my permission." Felicity smiles brightly, and his heart stutters. "But for future reference," he says, placing a palm on the small of her back, "there's an open invitation to kiss me whenever you like."

"Noted," she whispers, dipping down with parted lips. Felicity captures his bottom lip between hers, giving it a light graze with her teeth and sending shivers running down his spine. Smiling, she draws his lip deeper into her mouth, suckling leisurely as her tongue laps gently against it. Her head tilts and he unconsciously reciprocates the gesture, his lips parting pliantly as her mouth slants over his. He hums low and deep, relishing the way she breathes warmth down his throat and into his lungs.

Oliver brings his free hand to cup the base of her neck; one of hers fists his shirt. With a soft mew, her tongue finds his, and as they twine together languorously, he tastes a trace of alcohol and something fruity (strawberries, he thinks distractedly), the combination intoxicating and sweet.

With a final drag of her tongue across the roof of his mouth, Felicity pulls her lips from his, inhaling deeply to replenish her lungs with oxygen. Eyes closed, she exhales a sated sigh. Her head is tipped back slightly, a sliver of space created between them, but they're close enough that he feels the light swipe of her tongue against his lips when it peeks out to lick her own.

Smiling beatifically, she plants a final peck at his lips, shimmying back down a few inches to fold her forearms against his chest. Oliver smiles back dopily, besotted and not caring one bit. "Hey," he whispers.

"Hey yourself," Felicity replies, propping her chin onto her forearms. "Just out of curiosity, what were you doing Goldilocking in my bed without even bothering to warn a girl?" She pouts. "It was like belly-flopping into a block of steel."

"You must've known I was under here." She shakes her head. "My feet are dangling off the bed." He lifts and jiggles the foot poking out at the end of the comforter in demonstration, the stockinged leg hooked over his shin coming along for the ride.

"Barely. And really, you can't expect me to notice details like that in the dark," Felicity grumbles. "Now, kindly remove your very nicely defined pecs and washboard abs from beneath my body." Her head lolls onto a shoulder. "Huh. That's something I never thought I'd hear myself say." Neck and head straightening, she stares him down determinedly. "But at this present moment, I want that cushiony pillow top more than any of the sinewy goodness you have to offer."

Oliver juts out his lower lip. "My ego's taking a beating today. I've been tossed aside in favour of two different household items within the last ten minutes."

Felicity scoffs. "Your ego can handle it. Maybe we could even get it deflated to a normal, more manageable size." She smacks his chest. "Now, stop stalling."

"I was here first," Oliver responds petulantly.

"This is my bed," Felicity points out, poking a forefinger into the bit of mattress near his ribs for emphasis.

He shakes his head, simply closing his eyes and pulling her in closer.

Felicity huffs indignantly as she lies trapped between his forearm and torso. A long enough pause follows that Oliver's convinced he's won this round. That is until she starts wriggling in protest, her breasts pressing up against his ribs and pelvis grinding into his groin.

"Felicity," he growls through clenched teeth, peeking at her through the narrowed slits of his eyes. She stares back wide-eyed, the look of innocence only belied by the wicked gleam that sparkles in her eyes. Any other night and he would've been more than willing to play this game. But he knows things will escalate quickly (they always do), and he simply doesn't have it in him to bring his A game. "I'm tired," he whines childishly.

"So am I! Chasing Barry around is exhausting." Her lips form a moue. "Sometimes, I think he just completely forgets to move at regular human speed."

A rumble of laughter bounces her against his chest. Oliver cocks his head to meet her eyes better. "Did you have fun tonight?" he asks, slipping a hand into her hair.

"Mmhmm," Felicity mumbles affirmatively, stifling a yawn. Her head drops onto his chest, appearing to have given up her quest to reclaim her bed. Oliver pulls the duvet over them. "I tried out-drinking Barry. It's not physically possible. He took twelve tequila shots without experiencing so much as a buzz, not a single motor skill impaired. I, on the other hand, barely had my hand-eye coordination intact by my third. The man's metabolism is ridiculous." She nuzzles into his chest. "How was everything tonight? Sara manage the comms okay?"

Oliver tamps down the frustration that claws at his throat as the night's events flash through his mind. "She was fine, still getting adjusted to your systems, but better than either Diggle or Roy, that's for sure." He absently rubs his forefinger along the edge of his thumb. "You hear about the bank robberies tonight?"

Felicity nods. "Heard the report on the radio. Any leads?"

"No, and not much in the way of evidence or witnesses either. Whoever was behind them is smart and experienced." Oliver sighs unhappily. "I'll fill you in on the details tomorrow."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, there's not much we can do at the moment."

"Okay," she says around another yawn.

Felicity's heart thumps a steady and soothing rhythm against his own, and Oliver feels the night's frustrations ebbing away, the tension that had crept into his muscles undetected loosening. Pushing away the night's events for the time being, he closes his eyes.

Oliver jerks awake to a loud yelp and the air being crushed out of his lungs. He flutters his eyes open, staring blearily into the darkness above him. He attempts to bring some much-needed oxygen into his lungs, but the weight settled on top of him makes even shallow intakes of air a chore. He curves his neck forward, chin nearly knocking into a mop of ink-black hair. "Tommy?" Oliver rasps in question.

The head bobs from where it's lodged into the curve of Felicity's neck, emitting a garbled "mmrph". The rest of his body, still bedecked in dress shirt and pants, is draped unceremoniously atop the duvet and flattening the two bodies that lay underneath.

"It had better be," Felicity mutters darkly, voice hoarse with sleep, "because I wouldn't want to pull out my kick-ass Wing Chun moves for just anybody."

"Aww." Tommy gives her hair a playful tug. "I'm special enough to warrant a special order ass-kicking? I'm so flattered, Smoak."

Blue eyes glinting with mischief as they briefly catch Oliver's, Tommy presses his lips to her the column of her neck. Oliver watches Tommy's cheeks expand with air, feeling only slightly guilty for being as amused as he is when a loud and obnoxious raspberry is blown into the sensitive skin over Felicity's jugular.

"Tommy!" Felicity shrieks, writhing convulsively from where she's sandwiched between them. Tommy laughs as he dodges Felicity lame attempts at batting him away. "C'mon, fight fair, Merlyn! Level the playing field and get off so I can have proper use of my limbs!"

"Get off? But I'm so comfortable here." To emphasize his point, he slumps into them like a dead body. Oliver and Felicity expel matching grunts.

Felicity thrashes under him, nearly kneeing Oliver in the thigh with her wild movements. "Tommy! We can't breathe!"

The momentum from one of her more agitated spasms successfully knocks Tommy off her back, sending him tipping onto his side at the edge of the narrow bed. Balanced precariously and registering the distinct lack of a cushioned surface at his backside, mirth quickly drains from his features, eyes wide and jaw slack. In a last ditch effort not to plummet to the ground, he grabs for the closest thing within his reach, Felicity, palms spreading wide on her duvet-covered hips as he brings her flush against his front.

Felicity's lets out a high-pitched yip as she's dragged off Oliver' body, dismayed alarm clear in her features. Her fingers claw at the front of his shirt, but fail to manage a grip firm enough to keep her from toppling over the side of the bed, arms and legs flailing. "TOMMY!"

Free from the weight of their bodies, Oliver turns onto his side in one fluid movement, a cheek propped onto his hand as he peers down at the rumpled, tangled heap of Tommy, Felicity and duvet on the floor. From her sprawled position, Felicity is thwacking Tommy in the chest, scowling, voice shrill with irritation as she reams him out. Tommy, only a smidge rueful, simply laughs in response and loops an arm around her shoulders to bring her to his chest, pressing a placating kiss to her forehead.

"Silence, my beautiful brainy banshee," he murmurs against her temple. That earns him a sharp elbow jab to the ribs, eliciting a howl and dramatic cradling of his side. "Can we please keep all pointy body parts to ourselves tonight? I'm too tired to fend them off."

There's a beat; Tommy blinks owlishly. "Huh," he intones pensively. "I really must be tired if I'm making inadvertent innuendos. I'm usually so in control of them."

Felicity rolls her eyes. "Welcome to my world," she deadpans, rolling out of Tommy's embrace to the floor. Oliver watches as she tucks herself into Tommy's left side, head lifting to accept his bicep as a pillow.

It's funny, Oliver thinks, how easily and perfectly she fits into both him and Tommy, a unique complement to each of them, but always herself in her entirety. It's wonderfully confounding and breathtaking.

Tommy catches Oliver's eyes, raising a brow and offering a soft smile, as if he knew exactly what Oliver had just been thinking. It shouldn't surprise him anymore, but it does, how simpatico the two of them are sometimes, so attuned and aware of the other's thoughts and feelings. Tommy cocks his head to Felicity's other side. "Plenty of room here, Ollie, if you want to join us."

With a soft smile of his own, Oliver obliges, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and clambering onto the floor on hands and knees.

"I keep telling you guys," Felicity murmurs drowsily, eyes closed, "we need a larger bed."

Oliver spoons himself around her back, freeing the duvet from tangled limbs and draping it over their three bodies. Tommy chuckles huskily, peering through sooty lashes to trade amused looks with Oliver. "And we keep telling you," Tommy says, turning into Felicity, his chin tucking over her head, "we like the one you already have. It's cozy."

Felicity sniffs haughtily. "It's a constant balancing act, that's what it is," she grouses, pulling the duvet up to her chin. "No space to flop around as I please."

Tommy snorts as Oliver smiles into her hair, placing a mollifying kiss behind her ear. "We'll consider it. We can talk about it tomorrow."

She huffs a breath of disbelief. "No, we won't."

Tommy's sleepy snicker fill Oliver's ears as Felicity's back rises and falls against his chest. No, Oliver thinks languidly, warmth and contentment spreading through his body. They probably wouldn't.

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><p><strong>AN:** Thanks for reading, and please drop a review if you've got the time, either here or on tumblr (under the URL mzanthropist). I love hearing back from readers!


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